Mass Etrek
by BlackBox Inc
Summary: Commander John Shepard and the crew of the SSV Normandy boldly go where no man has gone before and fight a threat that threatens the very heart of the Systems Alliance.
1. Chapter 1

MASS ETREK

CHAPTER ONE: A NEW PAST

Terminus Systems  
>Uncharted Space<br>SSV Bull Run Arrowhead Class Frigate  
>Commanding Officer- Captain Ronald Taylor<p>

"_SSV Bull Run, this is Arcturus Command, send traffic_."

"Arcturus this is SSV Bull Run, we sent you a transmission are you receiving?"

"_SSV Bull Run, we got your transmission but uh… check you're readings_."

"Gravitational Readings are going crazy, you should see this!"

"It looks like a lightning storm."

"_What you sent us just doesn't seem possible_."

"Yes, ma'am I understand, that's why we sent it."

The door to the Command Interface Centre opened swiftly allowing Captain Ronald Taylor to board the bridge. Already the pandemonium from their discovery was evident due to the constant chatter as the personnel went to and fro receiving and sending reports.

"Report," said Ronald as he made his way to his chair, only to make a B-Line to the navigator's terminal.

"Still out of visual range, give me 20 seconds," replied his helmsman.

"Arcturus Command advises that we proceed with caution," reported the comms officer.

Ronald nodded and walked to his chair, "Polarize the view screen."

The view scree, the only outlook onto the void that the bridge crew had, turned black, blocking out the incoming light from the nearby sun, due to the ship's close proximity. Instead of the bright beaming rays of the sun, the crew could now see the areas around it.

"_Could whatever this is be of Batarian origin_?" asked Command.

His navigation officer turned from his station.

"We have visual captain."

"_I repeat can this be Batarian related_?" Command repeated.

"That's a negative," replied an officer as the anomaly came into view.

"Captain," said the navigator with his jaw ajar, "are you seeing this?"

The anomaly itself appeared to be a black hole. What was odd was that it was not creating any magnetic pull towards it. But that wasn't the strange part.

The strange part was that something was coming out of the black hole.

A craft began to take shape. In Ronald's eyes it looked to be some sort of metallic squid.

Whatever it was, it dwarfed the Bull Run in size. It was truly a David vs. Goliath moment.

The entire CIC was silent. No one spoke a word. They each watched as this monstrosity drew nearer and nearer

"I'm getting something," said the weapons officer, "they're locking weapons on us!"

Captain Taylor snapped into action.

"All hands action stations! Raise the kinetic barriers! Arm the MAC!"

Each technician began scrambling to their posts, drawn out of their stupor and focused on their duties.

"Torpedo locked on us at 320 degrees bearing two five one," reported the ship executive officer.

"Evasive pattern delta five!" ordered Taylor.

The helmsman began to move the ship in a desperate attempt to avoid the incoming missiles.

Two torpedoes came streaking from the giant craft. Within a hundred meters of the Bull Run they exploded creating hundreds of smaller missiles.

The Bull Run's GUARDIAN lasers instantly began to open fire, shooting down the missiles as they approached. However the sheer number of the missiles overloaded the Guardian defenses .

The missiles slammed into the small frigate's kinetic barrier, causing the hull to glow a soft blue as the rounds struck.

"Return fire!" ordered, "Damage report!"

The Bull Run's chief engineer answered Captain Taylor, "FTL has been knocked out, it's like nothing I've ever seen! They knew exactly where and how to hit us!"

But the bad news kept coming, "Weapons are offline. I can give you minimal power to the Guardian defenses but main power is down to 30 percent at best. Shields are down to less than ten."

Ronald hung his head but was quickly snapped out of his over sensing feeling of dread as the enemy ship fired another salvo.

"All power to forward shields!"

The rounds drew close, splitting off once again and succeeding to slam into the hull of the Bull Run. The first group of missiles took care of the shields, draining what little power there was left. The second salvo hit right into engineering. A massive fissure opened up alongside of the frigate's hull exposing multiple compartment to the void.

"Atmospheric stabilization has been lost," reported the systems officer.

The CIC was instantly abuzz with activity as technicians tried to salvage the situation and officers barked orders to keep things organized.

"Prepare the shuttles for evacuation."

The crew looked to their captain. Here was a man with much promise in the Alliance. A man who could have easily made Admiral one day. Only to have it ripped away because of one damned patrol.

But just as the crew began to shuffle their way to the shuttles, the monitors began to go haywire and screech like the sound of metal on metal.

The crew looked up to see a face on the main view screen. The face had four eyes, a nose, and a mouth full of razor sharp teeth.

"Hello," the creature on the screen greeted.

Captain Taylor was at a loss of words. The creature before him was clearly a batarian. But since when did batarians create ships and weapons so powerful?

The batarian on the screen continued, "My commander wishes to speak to your captain in order to negotiate a cease fire. You will come aboard our ship via shuttle craft," the creature seemed to be smiling, "your refusal would be unwise."

Just as quick as the batarian appeared, he was gone. The view screen returned to the picture of the giant ship that was before the small Alliance frigate.

Captain Taylor felt a chill crawl up his spine and a lump form in his throat. All eyes were on him.

He turned to his executive officer, barley containing himself.

"Walk with me."

The XO rose from his station and followed Captain Taylor from the CIC.

As soon as they were out of hearing range from the crew, Taylor addressed him.

"If I don't report back in fifteen minutes evacuate the crew."

The XO shook his head, "Sir, we could issue-"

Taylor was quick to interrupt him, "There is no help for us out here."

Captain Taylor entered the lift that would take him to the hanger.

"Use Autopilot… and get of this ship," Taylor said issuing what felt like his final order.

"Aye captain," responded the XO.

"You're captain now Mr. Shepard."

With that the doors to the lift closed and Commander Kelvin T. Shepard walked back to bridge to assume command as the ship's new captain. A promotion he wished he had gotten under different circumstances.

Taylor arrived in the hanger seconds later. Immediately he was greeted by the commotion of the lower decks. Engineers were all scrambling around in a vain effort to save the ship. Taylor sighed as he neared his shuttle. Soon all these people would instead be running for the nearest shuttle hoping not to get killed in the escape.

Taylor climbed into the shuttle and powered the craft up. He did a quick pre-flight check and as soon as the board went green he brought the shuttle out of the hanger bay and into space… right towards the hulking giant he had stumbled upon not ten minutes ago.

The giant ship was even larger up close. The dark hull seemed to beckon to Taylor as he approached. As if he could hear whispering inside of his head. As if the ship was calling out to him.

Taylor shrugged it off as nerves and resumed his approach to the giant ship.

His shuttle entered the ships hanger and Taylor began to unfasten himself from the chair. He rose and marched to the door but hesitated before opening it.

He gave one last deep breath as he collected himself.

Back on the Bull Run, the crew is monitoring Captain Taylor's vitals. That way they can find out if they are betrayed and act on it with pinpoint accuracy.

"His heart rate is elevated," reported the navigator who Commander Shepard had named his new executive officer.

Kelvin Shepard nodded as he studied the alien looking craft, judging with inquisitive eyes, looking for any obvious weaknesses that might've been missed during the attack.

Unfortunately he was yet to spot any.

On the alien ship, Taylor's finger danced circles over the door release. He would admit to himself that he was a bit nervous but he quickly reminded himself that he was a soldier and would not flinch from giving his people time to escape.

He defiantly pushed the door release and was instantly met by three armed men; two Krogan and a batarian, each armed with a variety of strange looking weapons. However the batarian leading the small party was not led by the same batarian who greeted him on the view screen not too long ago.

Taylor held his head high in the manner of an officer and spoke with conviction.

"I'm here to speak to your commander."

The batarian shrugged and motioned for Taylor to follow him.

Minutes later and after many seemingly endless causeways and corridors, Taylor found himself being pushed in front of a familiar looking batarian and a scowling Turian.

The batarian moved forward to address Taylor.

"My name is Anto," he said before opening a holographic image of a futuristic and sleek looking ship.

"Look at this ship," Anto instructed the human before him, "Are you familiar with this craft?"

Taylor ignored the lackey's questioning. He was a Captain of the Systems Alliance Navy and he was going to be treated like one even as a prisoner or/ and a negotiator.

"Who is your commander?" Taylor defiantly asked.

Taylor looked over Anto's shoulder, "Is that him?"

The batarian's voice had a hint of annoyance, "I will speak for the Captain."

The turian made no move to acknowledge the debate occurring no less than a meter away.

"Then ask the Captain, what gives him the right to attack an Alliance vessel?"

The Captain's eyes darted up to the human before him, as if he noticed the captain for the first time.

Anto looked back at his commander before stepping aside. He arrived at another terminal and opened up a different hologram. This time it was of a turian.

"Do you know the location of Councilor Vakarian?"

Taylor was confused. He had no idea who this Vakarian man was but if he was a councilor he would know.

"I am unfamiliar with Councilor Vakarian," responded Taylor, keeping his composure.

"What is the current star date?" asked Anto as he continued the questioning.

"Star date?" asked Taylor for clarification. What kind of question was that?

Nevertheless, Taylor answer, the look of confusion clear on his face.

"2159?" suddenly Taylor had a sneaking suspicion these guys weren't from around here.

"Where are you from?" he asked to peek his own curiosity.

If anyone asked Taylor if he expected what happened next, he could answer honestly and firmly… maybe.

The Captain sprung from his throne like chair unsheathing a knife that Taylor noticed was strapped to his chest. Taylor coughed blood as The Captain planted the said knife into the human's chest, piercing the captain's heart.

Taylor's last thoughts were of his family; his wife and only child. How would they hear of his death? Would it be like in the movies? A military vehicle pulls up to their house and places the death letter in her hands. Would she weep for him? Will his son remember his father?

A these questions remained unanswered as Taylor slumped to floor and letting out his last breath.

In the CIC of the SSV Bull Run, the newly promoted Captain Shepard stared patiently at the monitor showing Captain Taylor's vitals. Almost surprisingly, even though everyone had suspected it, Taylor's heartbeat flatlined.

"They've locked in on our signal!"

"They're launching again!"

Shepard acted fast, "Execute maneuver Bravo six, helm, point two-zero-four, full speed."

The Bull Run's guardian laser opened up again on the approaching missiles. These seemed to a new breed. Instead of simply splintering into smaller missiles, these would instead shoot off rockets from the main body as it continued on its path towards the frigate. They packed a hell of a punch too. What little shield strength the engineers managed to scrape together during the cease fire died and the hull began to fail in multiple sections. Even worse, an nearby explosion caught both the helmsman and the navigator.

"Captain, we have fires throughout section 12 to forty. We are also venting atmosphere in sections three, nine, and eleven!"

Shepard had to think. How long could the ship last?

He stood from his chair and walked over to the helm.

"I'm issuing general order thirteen, we're evacuating!"

What little survivors there were aboard the bridge answered dutifully.

Shepard hopped onto the ship wide comm.

"This is the captain speaking, evacuate the ship immediately. Get to your designated shuttle craft. I repeat evacuate the ship!"

Down in the med bay, a couple doctors wheeled a pissed off, hungry, pregnant woman, who is clearly in labor, out into the corridor.

Her ears perked up at the sound of Shepard's voice on the intercom.

"Wait, that's Kelvin's voice!"

She looked around to see everyone scrambling towards their shuttles.

"What's going on?"

The doctor's ignored her. The chief medical officer turned to her colleges, "We'll have to deliver on the shuttle!"

All around them secondary explosions erupted, causing the small party to stumble a few times.

The woman pulled out her personal comm device.

"Kelvin?"

Her husband answered on the other line, "Hannah baby, is that you?"

"It's me. What's going on?"

"I have medical shuttle thirty seven standing by, can you get to it?"

"Yes," she answered simply, putting faith in her husband.

"Medical shuttle 37," Shepard reminded, "everything is going to be okay," he reassured her.

"Kelvin… the baby's coming, I can feel it! It's coming now!"

Shepard rose from his chair and headed to the helm to engage the autopilot.

"I'm on my way," he stated confidently.

Shepard punched several commands into the computer, putting the ship in the care of the VI.

However, the last thing he wished to hear at that moment was the VI telling him some not so pleasant news.

"Autopilot function has been destroyed. Manuel operation only."

Shepard silently cursed himself and began to chuckle.

Kelvin Shepard was the type of man who believed a person died does one of three things. A person would cry, beg, or laugh. In private moments, Kelvin often wondered what type of man he was. Would he cry? Would he beg to some divine being? Would he laugh?

It seemed as if he got his answer. Although, he wished he had more time to wonder rather than experience it.

Shepard turned from the helm and opened a comm link.

"Shuttle 37, is my wife aboard?"

He received an answer. That at least was good news.

"Aye Captain."

"I need you to take off."

"We're waiting on you sir," answered the pilot loyally.

"Negative, I need you to take off immediately, that's an order!"

There was a short pause on the other line.

"Aye sir, taking off now."

Hannah, from the small compartment in the back of the shuttle, felt the shuttle as it began to take off.

"No wait we can't leave!" she begged. It was to no avail. The shuttle continued to move, ignoring her pleading.

She reopened her comm link to her husband.

"Kelvin, the shuttle's taking off, where are you?"

Shepard hung his head.

"Sweat-heart, listen to me… I'm not going to be there."

Hannah's face grew pale, "no…"

"It's the only way you'll survive," he answered. In the background he could hear Hannah begin to cry.

"Are you still on the ship? You have to be here!"

Of course Kelvin wanted to be there with her. He wanted to see his child grow up. He wanted to be by his wife's side, fulfilling an old promise of grey hair, lemonade, and a sunset.

But life has a way of throwing curveballs.

"Kelvin, I can't do this without you…"

The Chief Doctor looked up at Hannah from a position where she would be ready to receive the baby.

"I need you to push, now!"

Kelvin could hear Hannah's agonizing screams as she pushed out the baby.

Kelvin's finger's danced across his terminal and he targeted only the missiles that were heading for the escaping shuttles. He even let out a few sharp breaths for a few close calls. He let out a relieved sigh when the last shuttle exited the giant ship's firing range.

There was only one thing left to do now.

Kelvin resumed his position at the helm and targeted a collision course straight for the enemy ship. He knew it would do much besides give the enemy a bloody nose. But it's going to be one hell of a bloody nose.

Suddenly both Kelvin's comm and Shuttle 37 were filled with the soft cries of a newborn child.

The anticipation was too much for Kelvin, "What is it?"

"It's a boy," responded Hannah. Kelvin could practically hear her smiling.

"A boy," Kelvin said with a grin on his face, "tell me about him."

"He's beautiful… Kelvin, you should be here…"

He saw on the computer that the distance between the Bull Run and the monstrosity was closing fast.

"What are we going to call him?" he asked.

"We can name him after your father?"

Kelvin couldn't hold back his laugh, "Elmer? You kidding me? Naw that's the worst."

Shepard thought about it.

"Let's name him after your dad, let's call him John."

Hannah smiled at her newborn son.

"Okay, John it is then."

Kelvin looked up to see that he was seconds from death.

"Sweat-heart can you hear me?"

"I can hear you," she said knowing what was coming.

"I love you so much."

Impact was moments away.

"I love y-"

From the shuttle, Hannah could see the fire from explosion caused by the Bull Run's collision with the enemy ship.

Hannah let herself cry. She looked at her son, hoping it would dull the pain.

It didn't.

**A/N:**

**This is much longer than I expected it to be, especially for a prologue. But I digress.  
>It seems I just can't take a hint so I've started yet another project. Don't expect updates as much as my other fic, the one I actually finished, because I'm going to be balancing a job, a woman, and a social life whilst writing this so… I mean I love you guys in a completely heterosexual way but a man's gotta do what he's gotta do.<br>So rate, review, all that good stuff and remember to hit me up if you have any comments questions or concerns.**

**Stay classy everyone and thanks for stopping by!**


	2. Chapter 2

MASS ETREK

CHAPTER TWO:  
>ORIGINS<p>

Earth, Sol System, Local Cluster  
>Iowa, United North American States<br>2168

Rebellious… Reckless… Punk…

Ten years old and there are no truer words to describe him. In the eyes of authority he is a menace. A problem child they must keep under a carful and watchful eye. If they falter one second, he might do something reckless… or rebellious. But definitely stupid.

The child however, loved every minute of it. Even at ten years old he could tell what his talents were and getting into trouble just came natural. Some say he has an ability to leap without looking which to some conservative types, seems reckless.

With his mother off world for extended periods of time trying to find a job to feed her family, the boy is usually left in the care of his over-zealot step-father.

The man wasn't all bad. Here he was, jumping into an already blossomed family, raising a child not of his loins. And yet he takes on the responsibility regardless. It is a truly admirable action.

However, his nobility and responsibility falls on a ten year old who wants nothing more than to get his next fix, whether that is adrenaline or attention. It is a craving that is left unsatisfied in the endless farmlands of rural Iowa.

Upon waking that morning, the boy found himself naturally bored. Normally he would be in school, but getting into a fight over the rights to his lunch money left him suspended and, according to his step-father, grounded. So he had to find entertainment whenever and however it came.

Walking into the garage where his step-father kept his prized possession the boy soon found the entertainment he was craving.

Fifteen minutes later he found himself behind the wheel of a vintage antique 2011 Ford Mustang convertible with the retractable roof.

The car was truly a sight to behold.

During the height of the Second American Civil War, when west fought east, many of the major cities became victim to constant bombardment. One of the casualties was the main production line for Ford Motors. Ever since the rarity and price of any car made before the company's eventual downfall skyrocketed.

The boy's step-father was an avid car collector. Where the man had gotten the money to spend on cars was lost on the boy but his child mind was focused on other things. But regardless he had many antique cars in his collection. But the Mustang was by far his most beloved.

So here sat the boy, he foot placed firmly on the gas pedal, as he drove down a long dirt road that seemed to stretch on for miles.

He was dividing his attention between the road and the green scenery around him, something again rare to the human home-world due to devastating effects of the twentieth century.

The boy consciously looked down at the speedometer to see his vehicle was easily climbing to ninety miles per hour and rising. A smile formed on his face as he punched the car into a higher gear and began gaining more speed.

His joy ride was suddenly interrupted by the soft ringing of the onboard cellular phone located in the dashboard of the mustang.

The boy reached down and accepted the call. The angry voice of his stepfather rang in his ears.

"Hey are you out of your mind? That car is an antique. If you think you can get away with this just because your mother is off world you got another thing coming. You live in my house buddy and that is my car. If you get one scratch on it so help me-"

The angry rant of the boy's step-father was cut off by a simple push of a button. The finger instead found another and the radio sparked to life, playing the sounds of rock and roll across the airways.

Completely unfazed by the recent array of threats, the boy began to sing along to the song playing. Looking up he found yet another way to live up to his reputation and began to unclamp the roof from the main body.

To his surprise, albeit joyfully, the roof came flying off once the last clamp was released and it flew into the air and landed on the road behind him. The boy chuckled and continued his ride without a care in the world.

His worry free attitude was suddenly cut short by the sound of an approaching siren.

Looking in his rearview he could see a highway patrol officer slowly catching up to him on a hover-bike. For the first time, a wave of panic washed over him.

The officer gained the distance to the speeding car in a fraction of a second. To his surprise, instead of a couple of teens too much on the sauce, he found a young boy. Still he spoke with conviction and authority.

"Citizen, pull over," he ordered.

The boy looked at the officer and the back at the road. He did this double take several times, silently contemplating whether or not to follow the lawman's instructions.

Before the officer could repeat his order, the antique car made a sharp and sudden turn onto a construction site, ramming through the signs placed there to keep out unwanted visitors.

The officer was at first wide-eyed at the sight of the car balancing on two wheels before the others managed to touch solid earth. The car continued through the site, narrowly avoiding the construction vehicles and equipment that were scattered about.

The officer pulled up and left on his hover bike and made a seamless 180 degree maneuver. In no time he was once again in pursuit.

The boy was relishing in this new found game of 'catch me if you can' and began to drive the car even faster than before. His adrenaline spiked every time he whizzed past the hulking metal construction equipment and he felt his heart racing. This was definitely not what he expected when he first jacked the car but it was a welcomed addition to his boring life.

But sadly, like all good things, his fun was not to last.

As he exited the main area of the construction site he found himself now facing a giant quarry. A passing sign alerted him to the massive drop in elevation but he kept his course.

The boy narrowed his eyes, almost daring the rock edge to make the first move.

He let out a battle cry yell and just as the car entered the point of no return, he spun the wheel, forcing the car to hop on two wheels yet again.

But his death defying stunt was not over.

Just as the car began to lurch up on two legs, he opened the driver's side door and jumped. Not only for his life but also just for the thrill of it all.

The vintage, antique, priceless, Ford Mustang, fell over the cliff edge and towards its inevitable death. Almost as if it had a conscious mind the car groaned; a last cry as a member of an endangered species of vehicles. A cry of something about to meet its end.

The boy paid the car's wail no mind. He was too busy trying to gain traction in his attempt to save himself from a similar ride over the edge.

The boy kept sliding, his hands grabbing loose dirt. He felt his tiny legs begin to hang over open air and just as the rest of his body followed suit, he managed to grab a good hand-hole and stop himself from ending up like the car before him.

Hanging there from the cliff, he looked down to see his step-father's car smash into the quarry bellow. The sound of metal colliding into rock made his ears hurt but he ignored it and began his climb to solid ground.

After a minute of heaving and huffing the body finally managed to swing himself over the side and into safety.

He laid there for a few seconds, with his eyes closed and a smile on his face as he replayed the recent events in his mind.

The sound of dirt crunching underneath rubber soled boots made him stubble onto two feet.

Looking up he saw himself face to face with his pursuing officer.

Ever the vigilant rebel, the boy looked back towards the cliff and then back at the lawman.

"Is there a problem officer?" asked the boy sarcastically.

The officer however was too stunned to acknowledge the boy's lack of attention to authority.

"Citizen… w-what is your name?" the officer barley managed to utter.

The boy brushed the dirt off of his clothes and raised his chin in defiance.

"My name is John Kelvin Shepard."

Palaven, Titan System, Paladin Cluster  
>Capitol City of Creete<br>2168

A young turian male stood before the holographic image of his instructor, patiently waiting to begin the day's series of questioning.

He was still too young to learn how to fight, unfortunately in his eyes, but was too old to still be in classes. He knew all the manuals by heart. He could recite the Hierarchy Dogma of War flawlessly. He could dismantle and assemble a firearm of any class accurately, precicly, and in record time all while blindfolded.

It was why he was still in classes. Most kids his age would take the arm of a master of their preferred trade, whether it be in firearms, blades, or hand-to-hand, until the time came for proper training. All was to mold the younglings into the perfect turian.

But the boy was far from perfect.

He was too smart for his own good. He had a knack for being able to calculate any situation to the finite degree and his intellect was beyond comparison. He was also quick on his feet for one so young and the instructors often used him to help teach the others.

All the traits, all these qualities, while some wish for it… they were a curse in the boy's eyes.

How many times was he ridiculed for his intelligence? How many times was he drawn into a fight simply out of self defense against those who were jealous of his ablities? How many times was he lashed for breaking a bone of another student? How many times would he have to prove he was just a normal turian?

All the boy wanted to do was do his duty. It was his sole motivation in a ways. He had no desire to impress anyone outside himself. He did not wish to be the first, or be perfect. He simply did as instructed.

An instructor would say jump, he'd ask how high. If they said higher, he'd do it. Simple as that.

"What is the weak point on a Krogan Warlord?"

The VI's question snapped the boy to attention.

"The soft tissue behind the knee joint," the boy replied.

"No credit for partial answers," responded the VI instructor.

The young turian sighed.

"-As well as the areas near the armpits and the soft area underneath the chin."

"Correct."

The boys braced himself for another question.

"How must one handle themselves against an Asari Commando?"

He paused before his head snapped upwards to respond.

"Move in close, fast, quick attacks to the midsection, target the amps on the back of the neck. Do not relent or give them enough space to use biotics. The preferred quick kill is to the throat."

The boy smirked in the detail of his answer. He had spent the previous night reading the stories of the SpecTre Jaden, a Turian war-hero during the Krogan Rebellions, and the Justicar Inara. After several days of fighting the SpecTre won out by not allowing the Justicar to use her biotics properly. It was a glorious and proud moment in Turian history.

"Correct."

_How's that for a partial answer?_

The questions continued for hours, quizzing the boy on the fine points of armed and melee combat and tactics. Each one the boy responded with dictionary like answers. Each time he was right.

When the chime finally sounded that the day's relentless assault of questioning was over, the boy gathered his belongings and headed towards his locker where his coat and backpack resided.

Even facing the open locker did the boy realize that he was under attack. Not directly, yet, but under attack just the same.

_Three sets of boots hitting the ground. Footsteps are heavy indicating that the assailants are larger or taller… or both. The sound of cracking knuckles reveals intentions. Advise caution._

"Garrus!" cried one of his attackers.

The boy, Garrus Vakarian, was only twelve years old but at times acted twice that.

He turned around, fully facing the small gang of three bullies, with his chin held high. His legs began to tighten in preparation, his fist slowly curled into balls in anticipation.

Garrus looked at each, "Cronos… Trin… Den," he said addressing them directly, "I assume you've provided new insults for me today?"

Cronos, the largest of the three spoke up, "that's right."

Garrus held his stoic posture, "This is the thirty-fifth attempt to elicit an emotional response from me. I do hope you actually came prepared."

Another thing Garrus was both famous and infamous for; his ability to remain completely emotionless. It was a tact he learned from reviewing the long history of the turian people. What had caught his attention was that some leaders, even with victory within their grasp, lost because they became emotionally compromised. Garrus saw this as a weakness and an advantage for his enemy. Garrus thoroughly enjoyed disappointing his enemies by holding the advantage in every situation.

Trin scoffed, "look at him, acting like he has honor. You have no clan and therefore no place in the universe."

Garrus remain silent.

"Come on Trin, you expect even him to understand honor. He's a bare-face! The only thing they're good for his cannon fodder or the mines," added Den.

Again, Garrus stood quiet, absorbing the punishment being laid into him.

Cronos saw this, "Perhaps an emotional response requires physical stimuli," he said before pushing Garrus into the locker behind him.

Garrus winced as he felt cold blue blood trickle down his shoulder. He must've cut it on something. Nevertheless, he remained stoic, unbreakable.

"He's a traitor you know," spoke Cronos causing Garrus to silently growl. He knew where this was heading.

"-Your father… for marrying that bare-faced whore. It why you have no-"

Cronos was unable to finish. The forced of Garrus laying a full on extended punch into his naval cavity caused the larger turian fall to the ground unconscious.

Trin yelled out, catching Garrus off guard for the slightest of moments. He felt a sharp, throbbing pain across his cheek from the blow.

Before Trin could follow up, Garrus caught his arm with his own and placed a bruising shot to the opposing turian's stomach, forcing Trin to spit out a wad of blood.

Garrus then felt another blow smash across his back, pieces of wood from a chair falling around him. If he was stronger he could have withstood it but he was only twelve, fighting three larger, older and more experienced opponents.

Garrus felt his body drop to the floor. He silently ordered his body to get up but before his body could obey, he felt another blow, this time to his own chest. He slumped down once again.

"So this is the mighty prodigy we've heard so much about… on the floor like a Varren begging for its next meal."

Garrus slowly rose to his feet. His heart rate began to slow, his nerves began to ease. In his mind he began to predict the fight before him.

_Feral punch from the left- block, respond with shot to rib cage. Will favor right leg to heal, deliver kick to snap joint. Follow up with a short jab to the throat and another jab to the left temple. Prognosis: broken leg, shattered rib, collapsed trachea, and a concussion. Recovery time: nine to twelve months up to a year and a half._

Garrus' mind snapped back to reality. Sure enough, just as he predicted, Den shot out with a feral right hook, aimed right at Garrus' left cheek. Garrus easily blocked it and responded with a heavy uppercut to Den's chest.

Den backed up momentarily to lick his wounds and fell back onto his right leg. Garrus lashed out with a stomping kick directly at Den's knee. Garrus was rewarded with a sickening crack and Den's audible howl.

Now was time for the kill, so to speak. Garrus crossed the distance between him and a wobbling Den and delivered a quick short jab to Den's throat and an even quicker shot to the temple.

Before Den could comprehend what transpired, he was on the floor unconscious.

The whole process took seconds.

Garrus simply looked at the three bullies. He stepped over Trin who laid on the floor in front of Garrus' locker, cradling his obviously shattered rib. Garrus grabbed his coat and backpack and began heading for the door.

Expectantly he was greeted by three proctors. Garrus sighed and dropped his shoulders.

"Come with us," the lead proctor ordered.

Garrus did as instructed like a good turian.

Twenty minutes later he found himself outside of the Commissar's office. Even through the closed door he could hear the Commissar's angry shouting and his father's quiet mumblings.

When his father finally exited the room, Garrus hung his head in anticipation for the verbal lashing he was no doubt about to receive.

But it never came.

"Garrus…" began his father with a sigh.

A moment of silence passed between father and son.

"They called you a traitor," defended Garrus, breaking the silence.

Quintus Vakarian hesitated for a brief second, "Emotions run deep within our people Garrus. In some ways more deeply than any other. Logic offers a serenity that seldom ever experience. To be a good and honorable turian, you control of your feelings, so they do not control you."

Garrus couldn't help himself, "you talk of honor, but you married a clan-less?" he said using the politically polite way of saying bare-face, unwilling to refer to his mother in such a way.

"As the ambassador to my clan I am obligated to observe and study the other clans. Marrying your mother was… logical…"

Garrus could tell there was more to it. He had heard this excuse before. Quintus had been forced to explain himself many times since marrying the clan-less woman who later became Garrus' mother. It was an excuse and sounded as it was.

"Garrus, you are fully capable of deciding your own future. The question is; what path will you choose? This is something only you can decide."

Garrus remained silent.

Palaven, Titan System, Paladin Cluster  
>Capitol City of Creete<br>2180

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER…

"Garrus, let me see you."

Solara Vakarian stood gracefully in the main of the Vakarian Estate. Her arms spread out in greeting and love as she addressed her son.

"Garrus," she repeated only more sternly but with affection.

Garrus stepped out of the corner he was hiding and approached her, his head hung and his shoulder's slumped.

Solar fiddled with Garrus' collar.

"There's no need to be anxious," she reassured placing her hands on his face that was now adorned with fresh blue clan paint, "You'll do fine."

Garrus removed his mother's hands

"I am hardly anxious mother. And fine has variable definitions, fine is unacceptable."

Solara retreated only slightly before smiling again, "Okay, but you do look handsome."

Garrus looked at himself through a nearby mirror. Here he was, a grown adult still being coddled by his mother and wearing an outfit that basically creamed out that he was a mama's boy.

His fists still hurt after dealing with the last person who called him that.

"Do I really have to wear this? It looks like it was made for an infant."

Solara scoffed, "Do you doubt my taste in fashion?"

Garrus' mandible's flared. A human equivalent would be raising an eyebrow.

"Fine, if you really want to, go change," Solara added with a half-smile.

She attempted to turn away but realized that Garrus still had her hands in his own. She looked back at him. He had a look on his face that indicated that he wanted to tell her something but was struggling with the words.

"May I ask a personal query?" asked Garrus.

Solara was taken aback for a moment, "anything."

"Should I choose to complete the ritual today, and become part of Clan Kolinahr… I trust you will not feel that it reflects judgment on you…"

Solara smiled and hugged her son, "Oh Garrus…"

She pulled away to look at him in the eye.

"As always, whatever you choose to be, you'll have a proud mother."

Garrus smiled and hugged his mother. The approaching footsteps of Quintus made them separate.

"It is time," he said.

Soon, Garrus found himself in front of the leaders of Clan Kolinahr. Five in total, each minister represented a part of the clan. There was the Minister of War, of trade, of Negotiation, and of Credit. Seated in the middle was the Alpha. As the true Clan leader he has total authority that supersedes any of the other four.

Garrus' eyes flickered ever so briefly onto the Minister of Negotiation who was in fact Quintus himself.

"Garrus Vakarian," spoke the aging Alpha, "You stand before this council today to be granted admission into Clan Kolinahr. You have surpassed the expectation of your instructors. You're final record is remarkable with a long list of appraisals and achievements throughout your six year military career. There is however one exception."

Garrus remained firm.

"I see you've also applied to the SpecTres."

"It was logical to cultivate multiple options," defended Garrus.

"Logical, but unnecessary. You are hereby accepted. You will serve among us on the ruling board. It is astonishing how much you have achieved despite your disadvantage."

Garrus' head perked up. _Disadvantage_?

Quintus Vakarian silently prayed to the spirits that his son would remain quiet.

His prayers fell on deaf ears.

"Excuse me Minister but what disadvantage do you speak of?" Garrus inquired.

"You're clan-less mother," the Alpha responded without emotion but with enough prejudice to make Garrus' stomach turn and his fists clench, "All rise."

The leaders all stood as one. Just before the Alpha could officially induct Garrus, he was interrupted.

"Council, Ministers… I must decline."

All eyes were on Garrus.

"No honorable turian has ever declined admission into this clan," reasoned the Alpha.

"Well, since I am only half honorable, your record remains untarnished."

"Garrus," spoke Quintus, "You have chosen to honor the turian way."

The Alpha was having none of it, "Why did you come before us? Was it satisfy your emotional need to rebel?"

Garrus silently scoffed but held his place, "the only emotion I wish to convey is gratitude. Thank you, ministers, for your consideration."

With that, Garrus turned his back to the ministers, a clear sign of disrespect, and walked away.

Earth, Sol System, Local Cluster  
>Iowa, United North American States<br>2180

John K. Shepard was bored.

Life as a grown adult living in the middle of rural country left you with one of three choices. One, get a job on a farm. Two, get drunk. Three, move away.

Personally John had a problem with authority so getting a job was out. He still had plenty of money left over from his mothers' savings that she left him after passing away a few years prior so he wasn't in that much need for money. Moving away was tempting but in the end John decided that if he left he would be giving up. Giving up what? He didn't know. Besides, this place had potential and potential was everywhere if you knew where to look.

In the end, choice number two seemed like the only one truly available. At least for the moment.

So, John hailed a taxi and asked the cab driver what the best place in town was for a burger and a beer. The cabby recommended the bar Orion's Shelf, out a mile away.

Along the way John learned that the cabby, whose name was Gallen, was actually from a colony world and moved to Earth with his wife after she enlisted in the Alliance. Gallen was working three jobs just to put his kids through school, which John respected.

Galen went on then for the next half hour preaching how the Alliance was the only real thing representing humanity. Personally John didn't care which way or the other.

Once they reached his destination John thanked Gallen and paid the fare.

As he walked into the bar he noticed it was full of activity. Patrons were drinking, eating and dancing; all enjoying themselves and having a good time.

John walked up to the bar and flagged down the bartender.

"Hey chief, let me get a Bud Light Ultimate."

Three hours, two burgers, and twelve beers later, John was feeling pretty good. For some reason tonight felt different. Normally when he drank alone he would wallow in silent self-pity. But tonight he felt happy, for what or why he had no idea.

He was walking up to the bar to order another round of fries and a beer when he spotted a good looking young woman standing at the bar. She had to be around the same age as John. She had long black hair that was tied in a bun. Her skin was a light tan and she had deep green eyes. As he approached he could hear her order.

"I'll have two Budweiser classics, a Palaven Sunrise and three Cherry Vodkas."

"You should try the mango twist," recommended the bartender.

The woman smiled, "thanks I will."

John stepped up to the bar.

"That's a lot of drinks for one woman."

The woman scoffed.

"…And a shot of whiskey straight up," she said completing her order.

"Make that two her shot is on me."

"Her shot is on her," she corrected. Then she looked at him, "Thanks but no thanks."

She turned her head away from John who was both impressed and shocked that his charm didn't work.

"Don't you want to learn my name before completely shooting me down?"

"I'm fine without it."

"You **are** fine without it."

John could see his charms weren't working.

"It's John… John Shepard."

He held out his hand but the woman remained unresponsive.

"If you don't tell me your name I'll have to make one up."

She thought about it for a second, a small smile growing on her face.

"It's Ashley."

"Ashley, no way, that's the name I was going to make up for you."

John saw his opening when a smile formed on her face.

"Ashley what?"

"Just Ashley.

"What they don't have last names on your world?"

"Apparently."

John walked over and slumped into the stool next to hers.

"So, you're a cadet, you're studying… what's your focus?"

"Xenolinguistics, you have no idea what that means," she said dismissingly.

"The study of alien languages. Morphology, phonology, Syntax. It means you have a talented tongue."

The woman, Ashley, turned putting her back to the bar.

"Well, I'm impressed," she said smiling, "And here I thought you were some dumb hick who only had sex with farm animals."

"Well… not only."

Ashley was unable to hold in her laugh.

"So why Xenolinguistics? I'm not trying to insult your career choice, I'm just curious."

Ashley thought about it, "Well, to be honest I was just going to go as a marine. Just like my dad, my grand-dad and my great-grandmother. But I grew up hearing about the destruction of the SSV Bull Run and I got to thinkning that maybe I'll be of better use where I could help out. Prevent something like from happening again."

Shepard grew a bit angry at the mention of the Bull Run. He too had researched the ship's destruction. No one still has any idea what or who destroyed the ship but that doesn't stop a shitload of theories from being tossed around. The widely held belief is that the ship that attacked the Bull Run was a prototype Batarian weapon and that it was destroyed when the Bull Run collided with it in a vain attempt to strike back.

John was driven from his thoughts when a guy approached him from behind.

"This townie isn't bothering you, is he Williams?"

John turned to see a marine about an inch taller and twice as wide. Drunk as hell, John turned towards him, confronting.

"Unbelievably," Ashley answered, "but it's nothing I can't handle."

"You can handle me, that's an invitation," John said facing her once again.

"Hey," the marine said, "you better mind your manners."

John patted the obviously jealous marine on the shoulder.

"Relax cupcake it was a joke," John said annoyed and turned his attention back to the bar.

The marine aggressively turned John around. Three more marines have joined their buddy. Each were as tall and each as large as the guy standing before him.

"Hey, farm boy, I don't know if you can count but there are four of us and one of you."

"So get some more guys and it'll be an even fight."

John placed two light taps on the marine's cheek before attempting to turn around.

Suddenly the marine grabbed him and forced John to spin. As John turned he was met with a fist to the face.

He landed, arms extended on the bar. He touched his lip with his finger and saw he was bleeding.

John stood and faced the marine. Just before the guy threw another punch, John caught it midair and sun around him. He planted a kick onto the marine's back and sent him straight first into the bar. The marine's nose broke on impact.

Another marine, charged throwing punches of his own. John blocked them easily and launched a haymaker. The guy toppled over onto a table much to the dismay of its current owners.

A third soldier managed to sneak a hit across John's face making him stumble back into Ashley. He heard her shriek and realized he was touching her breasts. He smiled as she pushed him away.

The fourth marine caught him and tangled John's arms behind his back. The third began throwing a volley of punches. John however managed to shift his head, dodging a punch causing the marine to hit his comrade.

The fourth let his grip on John go. Now free, John grabbed a nearby beer bottle provided by a generous patron and smashed three over the head with it.

John attempted to dodge another blow coming from the second marine only to have his arm be grabbed from behind.

John was spun around and met by the marine he dubbed cupcake. Cupcake landed an uncontested shot on John's face and John fell hard onto the bar floor.

John then felt himself being picked up and thrown onto a bar table, landing on his back. Cupcake then began landing punch after punch until a loud whistle pierced the atmosphere.

"Stand down!" screamed a voice of authority.

The marines all did as ordered.

"Outside all over you."

The marines and servicemen all around the bar exited into the street. John's head flopped backwards and saw his savior.

"You alright son?"

His savior was wearing naval officer blues, a dark skin tone, and a short stubble haircut.

"You can whistle really loud, you know that?"

A few minutes later John found himself sitting across from the officer as the janitorial crew cleaned up the damage from the fight.

"You know, I couldn't believe it when the bartender told me who you are," said the officer.

John took a good long look at the man before him. He was obviously Alliance. His rank badge on his shoulders told John that he was a captain. His name tag read ANDERSON.

"And who am I Captain Anderson?"

Anderson smiled slightly. Shepard was surprised to feel a chill run up his spine. He brushed the feeling away.

"You're your father's son."

This drew John's attention for the briefest of moments. He turned to address the bartender, "Can I get another one?"

Anderson continued, "For my dissertation I was assigned to the SSV Bull Run. Something I always admired about Kelvin. He didn't believe in no-win scenarios."

John audibly pulled the tissues that were hanging from his nose. They were drenched in dried red blood.

"He learned his lesson," John sarcastically retorted.

"Well it depends on what you define as winning. You're here, right?"

John shrugged.

"You know that instinct, to leap without looking; that was his nature too. In my opinion its something the Alliance has lost."

John finally had enough.

"Why are you talking to me man?" he said with an annoyed chuckle.

"Because I looked up your file while you were drooling on the floor."

Anderson looked at the boy pretending to be a man sitting before. Even with his face beaten, bruised and covered in dry blood, he was still throwing around his cocky attitude. Anderson felt a small smile grow on his face.

"You're aptitude tests are off the charts. So what is it? Do you like be the only genius-level repeat-offender in the mid-west?"

"Maybe I love it," John replied.

Anderson nodded, accepting what John was doing. He was playing hard to get.

"So your dad dies. You can settle for a less-than-ordinary life."

_Grasped attention, follow with the catch._

"Or maybe you feel like you were meant for something better? Something special?"

Anderson leaned in.

"Enlist in the Alliance," he stated plainly.

John scoffed, "Enlist?"

_Definitely hard to get._

The boy took a swig of the drink supplied by the bartender.

"Man, you guys must be real low on your recruiting quota for the month."

Anderson remained serious.

"If you are half the man your father was, the Alliance could use you."

John shook his head in disbelief. _Since when did this become a recruiting session_?

"You can be an officer in four year. You can have your own ship in eight."

Anderson saw he wasn't making any headway. Surprising, but not unconquerable. He decided to go another direction.

"You do know what the Alliance is don't you? It is a peace-keeping humanitarian armada-"

"Are we done?"

Anderson looked into John eyes for a moment. There was a fire in there, he knew that for certain. But the boy had a wall up all around him and Anderson was shocked how resilient it was.

He nodded his head.

"I'm done."

John took another sip on his drink as Anderson stood up. He decided to play one last card.

"Riverside shipyard. Shuttle for new recruits leaves at 0800 tomorrow."

He began to make his way out before turning to address John once more.

"You know… your father was captain of a ship for twelve minutes. He saved eight hundred lives including yours and your mother's."

He walked back to the table and placed a business card in front of John.

"I dare you to do better."

With that Anderson turned and walked away, leaving John to an empty bar and his own thoughts.

Long after Anderson had left, Shepard found himself on a hill that overlooked the Riverside Shipyard.

He could see the giant hulking goliaths made of steel in the distance. Soon they would be on the front lines defending humanity.

John's gaze drifted upwards.

The stars above him shone beautifully. He had never been in space. He had lived on Earth his whole life. In quiet times he often wondered what the next frontier had in store for humanity. What would be his part in it? Would he even have a part?

John sighed and looked at his options.

Either he could go back home, sleep in like he usually does, and live the rest of his life day to day. Or he could enlist. He would become part of something far greater than himself. More importantly it would give him a future.

In the end he truly only had one choice.

**A/N:**

**There we go. Chapter two is down and a bit longer than I expected but hey what can you do?  
>If you have any question, comments, or concerns, message me either privately or via review and I'll put your fears to rest.<br>Stay classy everyone!**


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